The Fast Lane
by Faith and Grace
Summary: Oliver Wood isforced to take a break from playing pro Quidditch after shattering his arm and shoulder. Frustrated and angry, Wood reluctantly returns to Hogwarts as an instructor until he recovers and finally meets someone whom can heal his broken past. O
1. Oliver's Return

Oliver Wood was forced to take a break from playing pro Quidditch after shattering his arm and shoulder. Frustrated and angry, Wood reluctantly returns to Hogwarts as an instructor until he recovers and finally meets someone whom can heal his broken past. O/HG 

Disclaimer: Everything that you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling and her affiliates. 

A/N: An idea I had. I hope you like it! Feel free to e-mail me, or leave a review. 

The Fast Lane

Chapter One

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He didn't even see the bludger that came hurtling through the air on his blindside.

It was his first day of practicing with Puddlemore United, and he was incredibly nervous. As the rookie fresh out of school, there was almost an unendurable amount of pressure placed upon him to succeed. His sweaty palms kept slipping off the broom again and again as he slowly flew figure eight's around the giant ring-posts to shake off his nerves. The rock steady assuredness and maniacal energy he had possessed at Hogwarts seemed to slowly disparate and leave him with fatigue and nerves. He was alert and tense, all too aware that the head coach, Tom Donovan, was watching him closely to see if he would play in the first game of the season next month. His muscles were taut and his eyes were strained. But hand in hand with the nerves, a thrill went through him. This was what he loved to do, what he loved enough to dedicate his life to, and this was his thrill. He thrived on his tension and danger. But a shout from below interrupted his reverie, and Oliver only had enough time to see a blur of leather before the bludger slammed into his ribs. Time seemed to slow down as he dropped thirty feet from his broom, and then he blacked out.

Oliver unhappily carried his trunk onto the Hogwarts Express, his broad shoulders jostling those of the students that were milling around Platform 9 and ¾. Most of the kids wouldn't even recognize him, except maybe some of the 7th years. He had graduated from Hogwarts a few years ago, and it seemed sort of ironic that after all he had been through, he was back at his starting place. He had worked so hard to finally make Quidditch his life, and to do this was just was so humiliating, especially for a professional… but then someone jostled his arm, and a sharp pain jolted through his arm and his shoulder, almost making him drop the box he was carrying. It was all Oliver could do not to cry out, and coming from a tall, burly Quidditch player, that's saying something.

Oliver still didn't understand why his arm was in a sling. Or the reason why a young, partly trained Mediwizard was the only one on call when he had been rushed to the clinic, half-delirious with pain. The damn wizard had healed his fractures imperfectly, and Oliver was filled with almost unendurable anger that he had to spend the year recovering at Hogwarts. He wanted to yell his frustrating to the world, but he was painfully conscious that he had to set a good example for all these kids.

He was so ashamed of himself.

Hermione's face was pink from the cold air. She was almost bursting with excitement that she was returning to the school she loved, and most importantly, to the people she loved. She hurriedly kissed her parents good-bye, and then rushed over to embrace Ron and Harry, who had been waiting for her at the door of the train. 

"Hermione! You look great!" Harry said, giving her a hand with her trunk.

"Yeah, 'Mione, where you been all summer?" Ron asked, looking relieved when Hermione finally let go. He had always seemed uncomfortable around her. His lankiness and long nose were still the same, although he seemed to have gained a few more freckles over the summer.

"I went to Rome with my parents. I learned so many interesting things about vampires!" Hermione said excitedly. "And look!" she added, pointing to a badge on the front of her jacket. "Head Girl!"

"Wow," said Harry, glancing at the badge amazingly. 

Ron shook his head, smiling. "I ought to start calling you Percy now… just promise me you won't instate a policy that we have to have an hour of quiet study per night… that one almost killed me. He never knew it was me that slipped the Canary Cream into his food."

Hermione grinned at him, showing all of her teeth. "Sure."

"Who's the other Head Boy?" Harry asked curiously as he started to haul his and Hermione's trunk onto the train at the same time. Hermione groaned, but before she could answer the train whistle blew a warning and all three scrambled onto the train.

"Come on," Hermione said breathlessly, as all three of them hurriedly brushed past a tall, burly person. "There's a separate compartment for the Head Boy and Girl, though I'd rather be with you guys, seeing as the other Head Boy is…." But the second whistle to the train blew, and the doors of the train closed with a small hiss.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione both hurried to claim a compartment, trying to get one before the crowds of milling students got there first. 

"So, you never told us who Head Boy was," Ron continued, flopping down on one of the seats and surveying Hermione from eyes covered in messy red hair.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, but just then the compartment door opened and interrupted her. She closed her mouth in exasperation and looked for the intruder.

"Oh… um, sorry, I didn't know this was taken," came a deep voice from the very tall person who had just walked in. Hermione looked up, and was surprised to find a face that looked really familiar… the tan skin, brown hair, light eyes…

"Oliver!" Harry exclaimed, standing up so abruptly he knocked Crookshanks off his lap. 

__

I knew I knew him, Hermione thought, ignoring the slight thrill she felt run through her.

A look of comprehension seemed to dawn on Oliver's face. "Harry!" he said, a smile slowly lighting up his face as he stopped his exit. "I didn't know you still went to Hogwarts! How are you?"

Both of them shook hands and began talking rapidly, Ron standing up and closely following suit. Hermione found the conversation hard to follow.

"Pro Quidditch?"

"Yeah, the United…"

"…no, Snape's still here…"

"…Broken bones? Can't they fix that?"

"…_Teacher? _Defense Against the Dark Arts? No _way_…"

"…Damn assistant Mediwizard…"

"…Slytherin's put together a pretty good side this year, Hufflepuff's not bad…"

"…Jenna Smith? Nah, she graduated already…"

"…Ron's the Keeper now, he's not bad you know…"

"….House Cup last year, you know…"

Hermione sighed, and the three boys stopped talking.

"'Mione!" said Harry, looking surprised to see her there. "Sorry, forgot my manners… Oliver, you remember Hermione?"

Oliver's eyes widened slightly, and Hermione smiled softly, like she did whenever she got nervous around a really nice-looking guy. 

"Hey, Oliver," she said. He nodded his head, looked for a few more moments, and proceeded to talk to Harry and Ron again. Hermione felt slightly put off, but shrugged her shoulders and proceeded to read a new book she had just bought. _Boys_. Some just don't have any manners.

A few hours later found Oliver still in their compartment. (_"I should be looking for students to tell off, but you all are a lot more entertaining.") _Hermione was curled up, reading a book, while the boys were still animatedly talking about Quidditch. It was amazing, the way Oliver changed whenever Quidditch was brought up. He changed from a brooding, surly man to an excited, energetic boy. 

Just then their apartment door opened, and Draco Malfoy pretended to stumble in.

"Sorry, boys," he said sarcastically. "I was just polishing my _Head Boy's_ badge and happened to stumble upon the poverty and big headedness emulating from this cabin…"

For once Ron didn't react to Malfoy's poke at him. Instead, he stared openmouthed at the gleaming badge affixed to Draco's robes'.

"Hermione, why didn't you tell us Malfoy was Head Boy?"

Hermione snapped her book shut impatiently. "I tried to," she started with exasperation. "But people kept cutting me…"

"Amazing, don't you think, how a Mudblood managed to become Head Girl," Draco started, Crabbe and Goyle flanking either side of him and looking as menacing as ever.

"Watch it, Malfoy," Oliver spoke suddenly, standing up. Draco automatically took a step back.

"Wood?" he asked disbelievingly. "What are you doing here?" His eyes trailed over the arm in the sling and the box of papers titled D.A.D.A., and his lip curled maliciously.

"Running back already? They didn't like you out on the big field?"

Oliver began to flush a deep crimson, and his fists balled up at his sides.

"Just because others are scared of your dad, Malfoy, doesn't mean I am. Your standing is shit with me. Run back to your mom, now."

Malfoy looked like he was going to reply, but Oliver took a step forward and acted like her was going to hit him in the face. He stepped back, and the compartment door slammed closed. Oliver sat back down again, visibly shaken, and it wasn't long before a clearly nervous Ron brought up the subject of Quidditch again.

But as Hermione surveyed Oliver under her lashes, she couldn't help but notice that this time his cheerfulness seemed forced, yet the pain in his eyes when Draco had taunted him had been real. She knew what it was like when someone like Draco sought out your greatest weakness and preyed upon it, and she couldn't count the number of times that he had made her doubt herself over the years. All the same, she recognized a suffering soul when she saw one, and when she returned to her book it was with a feeling of unhappiness that she couldn't place.

This would be an interesting year.

You couldn't fall in love with a teacher… right?

A/N: A short little vignette to start off with… tell me what you think. While you're at it, check out my other story. 


	2. Commencement Feast

Sorry, forgot the disclaimer in the 1st chapter:

Harry Potter and all recognizable characters belong to J.K Rowling and her affiliates. Everything else belongs to me.

The soft tinkling of silverware and muted conversations slowly filled the Great Hall as students gradually filed in from the freezing cold outside. Hermione in particular was dripping wet thanks to Peeves, who had taken it upon himself to launch water balloons at a passing group of 7th years. Ron in particular had thought it hilariously funny, until he himself was hit square in the face with a predominantly fat balloon. He now walked sullenly by Hermione's side, red hair dripping, muttering mutinously. 

Oliver had taken his leave somewhere during the middle of the train ride, citing certain teacher responsibilities. Hermione was still slightly incredulous that Oliver was going to be teaching D.A.D.A., particularly with all the Dark activity occurring. But Dumbledore must have had his reasons. 

Hermione had tried to follow the boys' conversation, but she found it as meaningful as her Potions textbook in her Arithmancy class. She never really was an enthusiast of Quidditch to the extent of rabidness, nor did she particularly care to listen to three boys conversing swiftly about it and sliding in bawdy jokes she never understood. 

When Oliver had taken her leave, she had barely glanced up to smile at him. She became rather reserved in situations like that train ride; besides, he was sort of handsome in a laconical way, and rather intimidating. She attempted to replace her shyness with a certain aloofness, but all it did was add an air of mystery to her which made her even harder to understand. On closer inspection across the train seat (under her lashes, of course) he wasn't as tall as he seemed, but rather shorter and stocky. His hair was blonder, too; probably from all of those days in the sun. He had a funny sense of humor, too when he at least wasn't sulky, even if Hermione didn't understand some of it…

Ron started complaining about how cold he was, which snapped Hermione out of her reverie. She must have been daydreaming pretty heavily, because the Sorting had already been completed and Professor McGonagall was carrying the Sorting Hat off. She noticed a few bewildered-looking first years, and she smiled weakly at a red-haired girl seated across from her. Hermione was sort of cross with herself, because the Sorting was something she looked forward to every year. 

Professor Dumbledore stood up, and an almost immediate silence filled the Hall. Hermione noticed that the staff table was full, but before she had a chance to look for Oliver (not that she wanted to, of course) Dumbledore began his annual pre-commencement speech. 

"Welcome," he said simply, spreading his hands wide and beaming at the Hall full of students. As always, he radiated quiet strength and power, and Hermione instantly felt safe.

After making his usual announcements (The Forbidden Forest is off-limits, as well as a list of 538 items posted on Mr. Filch's office door) Dumbledore began to smile even more broadly.

"It is my pleasure," he started, "To welcome back one of our former students.  Here only for a short while, until his wounds heal, I am pleased to announce the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Oliver Wood."

Oliver Wood stood up, and almost immediately all of the 7th years who had known him suddenly recognized and started cheering and clapping, slowly followed by the rest of the Hall. Except for Draco Malfoy and his band of Slytherins, who were staring at Oliver with a look of disgust on their faces. No sneering was present this time: only loathing.  

"I can't believe it!" Dean Thomas exclaimed to Harry and Ron. "Awesome!"

"He's so handsome," Lavender Brown sighed to Parvati, and Hermione felt a stab of annoyance out of left-field. Parvati giggled, and said "I know. To think he'll be _teaching us. I hope I get some private lessons."_

Lavender giggled even harder, and felt the urge to roll her eyes at their… shallowness? Vapidness? Why did she even care?

Oliver gave the Hall mock bow, and his eyes roamed over to where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were sitting. Oliver winked at Hermione before looking away again, and she flushed slightly. What was going on with her?

But she was even more annoyed when she heard Lavender and Parvati giggling even harder behind her.

It's not like that wink was for _them… _

When the cheering died down, (which took a considerable time) the feast began. Hermione waved briefly at Hagrid before digging in to her lamb chops and potatoes, feeling that once again, she was where she belonged. Other than Nearly Headless Nick suddenly appearing from the exact spot where Ron's plate was and nearly causing him to choke on his steak ("Serves you right," Hermione scoffed. "You should have taken a smaller bite") nothing else exciting occurred. No explosions rocked the Hall, nobody was Transfigured into something unnatural. Yet looking up at the staff table, where Oliver Wood was taking to Professor Sprout with a wry smile on his face, she knew it would be an interesting year.

* * * * *

A/N: Sorry that was so short. I'm just trying to set some foundations before I dive into the main plot. I hope you like it, feel free to e-mail or review if you want to tell me something. Thanks for reading!

**Trinityelf**- Thanks for reviewing. A couple of reasons why Draco could be chosen as Head Boy (in my own world, at least) 

1.) He makes good grades and "helps" teachers catch troublemakers (book 1, Draco helped McGonagall to find Harry after he dropped) 

2.) Draco's daddy

3.) You know, it's really not very believable. But hey, it works with my story- I've got plans. Once again, thanks!

**L'eau Goddess**- Your review rocked! Thanks so much. It helps to know people like you appreciate my editing work J Your comments make me want to write (and post) faster. I really think yours was one of the best reviews ever. Thank you so much!

**LaneIA**- You are dead on about Draco. I have some things in mind- I appreciate your review, it was very insightful and thought provoking. Thanks!!

**Chelsea**- My 1st reviewer! Thanks for the praise. I really appreciate it

~Faith


	3. First Class

The first official day of school was like Christmas to Hermione. The feeling was a minority on her part, as Hermione's face was the only one shiny and smiling at breakfast the next morning. Ron's eyes were bleary, and Harry was swearing over the fact that they had a boring first class. 

Being back at Hogwarts gave Hermione a feeling of uplifting: she was finally where she belonged, where she could work without being disturbed. And be with Harry and Ron, of course.

Hermione poured over her schedule, happily commenting that they had History of Magic at 9 o'clock, and then Defense Against the Dark Arts at 1. She did a double take after reading they had D.A.D.A., but nobody noticed. She attributed the sudden racing of her heart to the fact that school was just about to begin. The classes were about to begin, that is. Like Defense Against the Dark Arts…

* * * * *

"Nothing's changed, has it?" Ran commented, as all three of them were walking out the doorway of their History of Magic classroom. "Tell me again, Hermione, why you are forcing us to take this class?"

Hermione smiled ruefully; when Ron and Harry thought about dropping their history class last year, she had convinced them to stick with it.

"Besides for the obvious enjoyment of seeing you suffer miserably, you have to take the class for your Auror training. Remember?"

Harry and Ron brightened up somewhat. Both were planning on becoming Aurors after graduating from Hogwarts, and it was something they were both looking forward to. 

"Oh yeah…" Ron said vaguely, looking off into nowhere, tripping on the rug in the D.A.D.A. corrider. "I just hope it won't be as boring as that."

"Not with all the Dark Wizard activity lately," Hermione muttered darkly. 

That shut everyone up.

It was with a rather depressed feeling that they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Oliver wasn't there yet, so they took three front row seats and pulled out parchment, quill, and wand. They were all silent as the rest of the classroom filed in, and slowly conversation began to fill the quiet corners of the room. Hermione took the time to look over the large mahogany desk in the front of the room, and then to the painting of a Quidditch team above it, then the small iron chandelier that illuminated the classroom…

Hermione did a double take. What was a picture of the Quidditch team doing here? She squinted her eyes, and noticed about 14 assorted players wearing dark blue robes with a large P splashed across their chest. Sure enough, Oliver was standing in the middle of the group, his arm around the shoulders of a short blond girl. The transformation in Oliver was amazing; in the picture his face was smiling, his eyes mischievously twinkling, his pose suave and his smile laconical. Now he seemed to be dark and brooding, resenting the fact that he lived and shamed by the fact that he was back at Hogwarts.  

But just then, Oliver walked into the classroom, and almost everyone fell silent. The boys all had looks of eager anticipation on their faces, as all of them had known Oliver a few years back and were eager to see how he would teach possibly the most important course of their lives. Most of the girls had mildly interested expressions on their faces, though their curiosity was more due to the fact that Oliver happened to be handsome, rich, and about to be internationally famous.

 Hermione in particular suddenly paid careful attention to her hair, making sure nothing was out of place. She was aware that Ron was watching her out of the corner of his eye, but when she looked over at him he quickly averted his gaze, instead turning around to talk to Lavender. 

"Class," Oliver said, dropping his books and sitting on the front of his desk. He paused a moment to reflect upon the word, savoring it, and gazed upon the students whom he had known, had even been friends with. Someone commented upon Oliver being a pro Quidditch player, and the silence broke as everyone began to talk excitedly. Oliver's eyes flashed. 

A small explosion suddenly rocked the room, and everyone stopped talking at once and looked for the source. At the front of the class was Oliver, his wand still smoking, his smile strained and dangerous.

"Rule number one," he said, his voice low. "Any mention of Quidditch is limited to that poster behind me, and all you're allowed to say is how handsome I look."

It was meant as a joke, but nobody was laughing. Some were shocked, their mouths hanging open. It wasn't until just now that Hermione realized to what extent Oliver was suffering.

"Okay," he said briskly, once silence had been restored. His shoulders relaxed visibly, and his frown lessened, but the class still listened with bated breath. "I don't care what you call me in here, as long as when Dumbledore's around it's Professor. Now, I'm doing this as a special favor to him, and I'll only be here for one year. Then I'll be healed…"

Harry, Hermione, and Ron smiled grimly. That sounded familiar.

"I'm here to teach you how to defend yourself. There's a lot of Dark activity occurring now, mostly in the southern and eastern regions, but don't deceive yourself if you think you're safe. There are people out there who wouldn't think twice about taking your life… or your families'."

Everyone was now hushed, gazing at him with wide eyes and bated breath. The class was all unconsciously leaning forward on their desks, wanting to hear more than just rumors inspired by fear, drinking in every word like thirsty flowers. The hold Oliver had on the class was incredible, and they were all staring at him in rapture. 

Oliver coughed, and clapped his hands once. The spell broke. "Okay," he started. "We should start with the Alucinor spell. Can anyone tell me what it is?"

To nobody's surprise, Hermione's hand was the first in the air. Oliver nodded to her.

"It is a spell commonly used by Dark wizards to allow them to see into the minds of others. The Ministry strictly forbids it in daily life, as the spell caster has the ability to control the mind of his or her host, and it can go dreadfully wrong. Inexperienced wizards often end up going crazy, because they have an overload of memories, experiences, and longings coming in from both him and his host. It's often referred to as the Minor Imperius Curse."

Oliver appraised her silently, and slowly rustled some papers he had in his hands. He cleared his throat. "10 points to Gryffindor. Very good, Miss Granger."

She flushed with pleasure, but as she was putting her hand down she felt a slight disappointment that he hadn't called her Hermione. He hadn't referred to Lavender as Miss Brown. 

The rest of the class was spent on the Alucinor spell, how to prevent it, and once it was administered, how to block it. Like Snape and McGonagall, Oliver had a way of making the class hang on his every words: maybe it was just because the subject they were dealing with was highly dangerous and rare, but Hermione was mildly impressed that Oliver had such a grasp on the subject. Where had he learned all this? Hermione found herself learning a lot more than she had previously known, and was impressed.

Oliver ended the class with a warning.

"You'll always need to be on your toes. Constant vigilance! Sometimes a split second of awareness is all it takes to save your life. Constant vigilance," he ended softly.

Hermione started. He sounded so much like Professor Moody, but Moody had come to teach at Hogwarts after Oliver had graduated. She frowned, and thought about mentioning it to Harry and Ron later that night, but she thought she'd go to the library first to do some homework. 

Looks like Oliver had his own secrets to tell.

* * * * *

A/N: I keep hinting at a lot of things, like Dark activity, Oliver's past, etc. etc. Don't worry, it'll all reveal itself. Next chapter involves Hermione in the library… and who else happens to be there but our favorite Quidditch player? (No… not, Harry… or Ron… or Draco…) J

**L'eau**** Goddess- I look forward to your comments now (no pressure, though) J I hope you like the way the rest of the story is going, and that you still think it's good in a few chapters or so. Your review rocked, and is definitely one of the reasons I'm working to update a quickly as I can.**

**Trinityelf**- Thanks! You are so nice! I'm glad I cleared up the Head Boy thing for now, it won't come up for a while but I thought I'd lay some groundwork. Thank you for reading~

**grahamcrackers- I love O/H, and I'm glad you like it too. Naturally, since there aren't as many writers for O/H as there are for say Lily and James or Ron and Hermione, there won't be many reviews. I'm doing this because I really like it. Thanks for the review!**

**Athene**** Saile- I tried to incorporate a little of the student teacher interactions here, and I hope to develop them later on. One of the reasons I'm writing this story is to try to explore the teacher/student relationship (and besides, I like Oliver) J**

**brunet-****barbie-****84- I'm glad you are starting to like O/H. That makes me so happy that I could have helped with that. Your review rocked!**

**JagFanatic- Awesome. I'm glad you like it! **

**Nevtassere**- Thank you! I think O/H make a really cute couple too, in the younger girl/older guy crush type. Very intriguing, to me at least. J Thanks!

By the way, I tried to review your alls stories, but there's an ad/pop up blocker on my computer that won't let me. I really wanted to return the favor because you all have been so nice! Feel free to e-mail me!

I'll stop talking now.

~Faith


	4. Conversations in the Library

A/N: Just filling in some here… not much happens, but I promise more action and romance will come soon.

Hermione rubbed her tired eyes and sighed as she pulled yet another parchment towards her. It was only the first school day back at Hogwarts, and she was already burying herself in work again. She tried to limit the habit of taking refuge there, but it seemed the library was the only place where she could find solace, peace, and quietness, where nobody expected anything from her and the one place where she wasn't required to be absolutely perfect. 

She tried to concentrate on the page in front of her, but she couldn't make her tired eyes concentrate. It seemed like all the words gradually began to break apart and form swirling myriad's of black ink, combining into the image of a broomstick, with someone flying on it… the black ink spun together, forming a rider wearing flowing robes, a large P splashed across his chest… the robes were billowing out behind him, and she could see the wind whistling through the narrow twigs of the broomstick…Hermione blinked furiously a few times, and leaned forward until her nose was almost touching the page…

"Hermione?" a voice came from her shoulder.

Hermione jumped, startled, and quickly slammed the book shut in a cloud of dust. The noise caused was so enough to make Madame Pince scowl at Hermione, but she didn't notice: her heart was beating so loud, and all her focus was on calming it down. What had just happened?

"Um… Hermione? Are you alright?" questioned the voice again, a little uncertain this time.

Hermione looked up from her hard wooden seat and felt her breath slightly catch in her throat as she beheld Oliver Wood standing in front of her. How odd was it, that she had just hallucinated about a Puddlemore United Quidditch player, and here was one standing right in front of her…

"Oh, hey Oliver," Hermione replied, slightly breathless. She felt like a rug had just been pulled out from under her in front of the entire school, and she didn't know why. 

She looked up again at Oliver, but as her eyes lifted up she noticed a swift movement of his arms which hid whatever he was carrying behind his back. She frowned slightly.

"Err… sorry… I mean, Professor…"

Oliver smiled ruefully. "Oliver, if you don't mind." He wrinkled his nose. "Professor makes me sound so old."

Hermione laughed, the tension in her stomach lessening a little. "Old? You're hardly 22."

Oliver raised his eyebrows. "Have you been thinking about that, or are you just that smart?"

Hermione blushed, smarting. "Actually, it's really not that hard to figure… You're only four years older." 

Oliver laughed, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. Hermione wanted to sigh in exasperation: wasn't he ever happy? Enough of the Quidditch depression already…

"So what did think of class today?" Oliver asked casually, his eyes studying Hermione's face. Hermione didn't know it, but the soft lamplight was casting shadows over her face that softened her features and cast a warm glow. But Oliver wasn't paying attention to that; he just wanted an opinion from one of his smartest students.

And Hermione knew that, which was why she wasn't flattered by the attention. With a somewhat sinking heart, she genuinely replied, "You know, I was actually impressed. I learned something new." She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, but Oliver caught some of the subtlety. He was quite vexing. The sudden realization that Oliver happened to be handsome, no matter how hard she tried to deny it, made her a little short tempered. Don't ask why. 

"What, did you think I can't teach?" he asked, his Scottish lilt thoroughly distracting. "That I had been hit by too many Quaffles, and my brain had been addled?"

Hermione smiled. "No," she said brightly. "I was thinking more of Bludgers."

She knew that if she had said that to any other teacher, she would have gotten detention and been fined house points. But for some reason, Oliver thought it extremely funny: his eyes lit up, and his mouth stretched into a smile, emitting a laugh. His laugh was low and booming; Hermione liked it. She was startled; Hermione had meant to drop the hint that she was trying to study in peace, and she was annoyed that he thought just because he was handsome, rich, and internationally famous he could make small talk with her and assume she was falling in love with him.

__

Oh, shut it, said the voice in Hermione's head. _You're just jealous because he has a girlfriend, like the pretty blond in the picture…_

Hermione stopped smiling. Her conscious could get so annoying sometimes.

"… Occlumeny?"

"What?" Hermione asked, slightly annoyed that she had been caught daydreaming again.

"I said, are you studying Occlumency?" Oliver asked, his broad shoulders beginning to slightly relax. But he still didn't take a seat. 

"Oh, yeah," Hermione said, running her hand through her hair and irritably pushing a strand of hair away. "Yeah," she continued distractedly. "Especially with all of Voldemort's supporters gaining power, and the goddamn Lestrange pair in Surrey…"

Maybe it was just because she was so tired, but it was only after Hermione had said this did she realize she had just told Oliver classified information from the Order of the Phoenix. As Harry had gradually been taking a more active role in the Order lately, she had heard bits and snatches of what had been happening, and had even been participating on a more active level. Although she only did some research here and there, her sharp wit and general knowledge of… well, everything…guaranteed that she would very gradually become an important member of the Order.

But what worried her right now was Oliver, who was both uncleared and a civilian, albeit a very strong, broad shouldered civilian…

The usual gasp at the mention of Voldemort did not emit from him, and he was now staring at her more seriously than ever before, as if realizing for the first time her intelligence and wit. Now it was no longer a gaze from teacher and pupil, but from equal to equal. And Hermione was slightly nervous.

Hermione shifted nervously, and opened her mouth to say something… anything… but Oliver interrupted her.

"You might want to be more careful from now on, Miss Granger. Too much information can be dangerous."

He was no longer laughing; his eyes were deadly serious. Hermione felt her stomach begins to twist, and she began to sweat a little. Oh boy… she'd have to clear this with Shacklebolt… She was wide awake now, but desperately wished for the peacefulness of a full stomach, drowsy eyes, and quiet night in the library.

"So," said Oliver again, clapping his hands. The tense atmosphere seemed to lift, and Hermione had a grudging admiration for his ability to change the subject so easily.

"I have a text about Occlumency, if you want to read it. By Cassandra Blankenship, limited edition. You can stop by later tonight or tomorrow, if you want…"

"Ummm… sure," Hermione said, her eyes widening slightly. "Blankenship? Limited edition?"

Oliver nodded.

"But that's really rare… and really, really useful… are you sure?"

Oliver flashed a smile, and yet it didn't quite reach his eyes again. "Sure, why not?"

Hermione's mind was whirring… the fact that Oliver had a copy of Cassandra Blankenship's Occlumency text in itself was amazing, as there were only fifty-two copies printed in the entire world, and the copyright was strictly enforced. But the fact that Oliver seemed so willing to lend it to her was pretty incredible…

"Alright, then," Hermione said, a slight smile. She was still slightly amazed that Oliver was still around talking to her. "I'll drop by tomorrow morning, ok?"

"Sure," Oliver said. "I'll see you later, Miss Granger." He grinned wryly at her, and turned his broad shoulders to her, alternately shifting a heavy, leather bound book out of her sight.

As Hermione watched Oliver's retreating back (he stopped briefly to confer with Madam Pince, and Hermione had a chance to admire his nice profile), she wondered if he knew how much he was vexing her… she didn't even know why he irritated her… and if he knew, how much he was enjoying it.

Yet Hermione couldn't help but smile as she returned to her parchments. 

* * * * 

A/N: Please e-mail me if you have any questions, comments, or if you just want to talk. If you would like personal replies to your comments, then e-mail me, because it gets rather tedious to do it in the story. (And if you want to be notified when I update… well, you know the routine. E-mail : ) )But thank you to my WONDERFUL readers! I love you guys! 

Shout outs to 

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Tracy 3- Thank you! I'll try to update as fast as possible.

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L'eau Goddess- Another wonderful review! You are so awesome, a lot of hugs to you! : )

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queenofdiamonds1- Yeah, I'm trying to make Oliver suffer : ) J/K… but some angst can do a story good, you know?

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sillylittleme- Thank you! I LOVE O/He too, and it's so fun to write about them.

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Monkeystaz- Lol thanks! I'll try to get Chapter 5 up as soon as I can!

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Nevtassere- I have a good idea in mind concerning the "blond-haired girl". I hope you like it… (btw, love your We're Coming Too fic!)

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BotherBother69- Thank you! I hope you like the rest of the chapter.

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grahamcrackers- Thank you! Your reviews are wonderful

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odyssey1- Thank you! I LOVE your O/He story (as you already know ) and a compliment from such a good writer as you is a good compliment indeed. Oliver's knowledge of DADA and Moody will be revealed soon… I hope…

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Athene Saile- Hmm… not related, but that is a good idea… thanks for reading!

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Wiffy- I hope you start liking the pair! Thanks for reading.


	5. Draco's Nasty Little Secret

A/N: Just wanted to thank you all overwhelming support! You guys have been nicer than I could have ever asked for! One thing, though… do you know if Head Girl/Boys get their own rooms? Ok… on with the show…

PS. I know this chapter is a little out there, but please bear with me…

Hermione woke with a start the next morning, dimly registering that it was still dark outside. Looking over at her clock, she silently cursed that it was still 5:00 a.m., and try as she might, she couldn't go back to sleep. Every time she tried to lay back down, her eyes would just snap open, and she had no idea why. A sort of restless energy was building up inside of her.

She had already done her homework, already had her clothes laid out for today, already had her Head Girl badge sparkling like new, and had already packed up her schoolbag. She had a fleeting mental image of Ron and Harry still snoring loudly, sprawled on their beds, with their homework undone, clothes scattered all over the place, and textbooks distributed around the common room… for all the dangerous and slightly extraordinary things they had done, they could still be quite immature. Hermione felt like their mother sometimes. 

So with a sigh, she slipped into her pink wardrobe and matching slippers and decided on heading to the Head Girl's bathroom in the Transfiguration corridor, thinking she could at least take a nice, long, relaxing bath. As far as she knew (and that was a lot) it wasn't forbidden to be up and about the early morning; Hermione had done it once or twice before, though she usually prized her sleep.

Hogwarts was truly beautiful, Hermione observed. The dark cast mysterious shadows that only added to the grandeur and mystery to the ancient castle. The occupants of the paintings were all snoring gently as Hermione, shivering slightly, softly padded through the corridor, but she swore she saw a painting of Abernathy the Addled wink at her before snapping his eyes shut again. 

As Hermione approached the statue of Morgana the Wise, she thought she heard a sound behind her. Spinning around, her heart suddenly beating faster, she beheld… nothing. Feeling stupid, she turned around again, and prepared to shake the hand of Morgana in order to open the door of the Head Girl's bathroom. But there it was again… a soft shuffling sound from somewhere behind her, suddenly stopping as she wheeled around again. The dark no longer seemed to be a friend anymore: the corridor seemed haunting, and Hermione kept seeing moving shadows that hadn't been there before. Hermione's heart began to pound, and she turned around and feverishly tried to get into the bathroom.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said a cold voice from behind her, and Hermione stopped her actions at once, recognizing the voice.

"Malfoy?" said Hermione disbelievingly, turning around to look at Draco. "What are you doing here?" 

It looked like Draco had gotten no sleep at all: his clothes were slightly mussed, his hair slightly disheveled: quite a contrast from the crisp, cruelly clean image he usually displayed. And it was odd to see him without his usual cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. 

His upper lip curled, and he sneered as he beheld her. Hermione's heart sank.

"I would ask you the same thing, Mudblood," he said softly. "But I would consider myself above someone such as you, so I'm afraid I can't answer your question."

Hermione trembled slightly, and pulled her robe closer to her. "The only thing you're above is a tub of flobberworms, Malfoy," she said irritably, ignoring the slur of her birth. If Harry and Ron had been there, Malfoy would have been on his back by now, but Hermione didn't take his taunt to heart. "How you ever became Head Boy is a mystery to me, but then I remember your father and then your incapability to care for yourself."

A flash of anger entered his eyes, but it was soon replaced by smugness. Hermione wanted to be anywhere but in a dark corridor with Malfoy, who could curse her in an instant… she wouldn't be found for a few hours…

"Ahhh, yes… my father," Draco began. "He knows your new friend very well," he added, his eyes glinting. If Draco had sprouted horns and a tail right then and there, Hermione wouldn't have been surprised. 

"What friend?" Hermione snapped, trying to recall the Shield Charm in case Draco was up for some "Muggle sport", as he liked to call it.

"Why, _Professor_ Wood," Malfoy said scathingly, his smile widening. "Seems like Wood's been pretty busy lately, if you know what I mean."

"Well, I don't," Hermione replied, glaring at Draco. Their eyes locked.

"Well, well, well. I can't believe Mudblood Granger here doesn't know. And here I thought you were halfway smart… Wood, Granger. Wood's been involved in some of the noble Dark Arts. Didn't you know?"

Hermione by now was staring at Draco, her eyes wide and her heart pounding like a hammer. _Wood_? _Oliver_ Wood? Involved in the Dark Arts? No way…

She shook her head as if to clear it, but images of Oliver kept flashing through her head. Oliver laughing, his eyes lighting up and teeth flashing… Oliver flying, the joy on his face as the wind sped through his hair… Oliver playing Quidditch, saving goal after goal and in tears as he held up the Quidditch Cup… 

It just couldn't be true… but Hermione glanced into Draco's eyes and saw the savagely triumphant look there, and her heart seemed to sink to the floor.

But, how could that be? Oliver played Quidditch, Dumbledore hired him, he was Harry's friend… Draco was watching her closely, and seemed to be reading her mind.

"Oh, hardly anyone knows. He's got a good cover; the only people that follow the Puddlemore United are Quidditch crazy, and most aren't smart enough to link him to anything suspicious. I knew you wouldn't tell anyone, seeing as you wouldn't want him to get into trouble. Your emotions betray you, Granger. You should have chosen another wizard to fancy…"

Hermione flushed a deep scarlet, barely suppressing her rage. She wouldn't take this.

"Malfoy, get… out… of… my… sight," Hermione hissed, pulling out her wand and pointing it at Malfoy's heart. "You have caused enough chaos here…"

And with a smile like a satisfied cat, Malfoy turned and walked away, clutching a small role of parchment. 

Hermione was left all alone with her thoughts, and for the first time in her life, wanted nothing more than to go away from this place… Oliver Wood, a dark wizard? That would explain his surliness, his willingness to be Harry's friend… Hermione almost sobbed. She was shaking with rage, and wanted nothing more than to call Malfoy back and curse him into oblivion.

Damn him! Hermione though furiously. Damn him to eternal hell for disrupting my peaceful life!

But what hurt most of all was what Draco had said. He knew what she felt, and that chilled her to the bone. What resources did he have, to be able to know her feelings?

And with a feeling of apprehension and dread, her bath forgotten, Hermione hurried back to Gryffindor Tower, anxious to talk to Ron and Harry… God, why did this always happen to her?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

But Hermione decided not to talk to Harry and Ron about Oliver, remaining pale and drawn all morning. She dreaded bumping into Oliver, and even more hearing him speak, knowing that every word that come from his mouth was a lie… 

"Wufs wran, 'Mione?" Ron asked, his mouth almost exploding with scrambled eggs. He swallowed. "What's wrong, Hermione?"

Hermione shook her head, and tried to smile. She was having an internal struggle with herself… go to Dumbledore, not go to Dumbledore… maybe McGonagall would know what to do. Harry was looking at her shrewdly.

"Nothing," she said. "I'm going to go back to Gryffindor Tower to, um… finish some homework," she said, getting up from the table and feeling miserable. She didn't know that two pairs of eyes were also on her, watching her every move.

She hurried along the Great Hall, walking quickly and with her head down… she was almost to the exit, twenty steps to go… fifteen… ten…

But she ran into someone as she was almost free, and as she looked up her stomach seemed to drop out as she looked into Oliver's eyes. He smiled, and Hermione shivered. 

"You free?" Oliver asked, looking at her. "I got the book for you, you can come pick it up now."

Hermione's mind was wheeling for an excuse, any excuse. She opened her mouth, but Oliver interrupted her. "It won't take that long… come on, follow me."

And Hermione had no choice but to follow him dumbly, her mind numb, each step leaving her heart feeling heavier and heavier. She was nervous as hell, not even noticing where her feet were taking her, and almost ran into Oliver as he stopped abruptly in front of a painting of Merlin. Hermione was surprised to find themselves in the Charms corridor. Oliver muttered something under his breath, and the painting smoothly changed into a rich, oak-paneled door, which silently opened under his strong pull. He held the door open for her, and Hermione hesitantly entered a medium-sized office, with dark upholstered walls and wood flooring. 

Oliver walked over to his desk, and motioned for Hermione to sit down. She did so, and vaguely wondered what was going on. Why was she letting this happen? Why wasn't she in Dumbledore's office, confessing what she knew? Maybe Draco was right. Maybe she didn't want to turn Oliver in because she had feelings for him… 

She began to stand up, suddenly resolving that she could atleast talk to McGonagall, when Oliver muttered something under his breath. The door shut with a click, and Hermione turned around, horrifed.

Oliver opened his mouth, and smiled grimly at her.

"We need to talk."

A/N: Sorry, I'm evil! I just wanted to see if you liked the story's direction before I posted again.


	6. The Half Truth Revealed

A/N: This is just a short fill in, so I won't be so evil. (I myself personally hate cliffhangers.) RubberDuckey710, your review made me crack up… here you go, glad you liked it!

Confused- Sorry this story isn't all that romantic yet, but you can't have Oliver jumping on Hermione at the beginning of the story now, can we? I laid the groundwork, now I can bring on the romance. Thanks for reading.

Hermione froze where she was. Her heart began to pound wildly, and her palms became immensely sweaty from where she was gripping the seat. 

Oliver was surveying her, gently bringing to tips of his fingers together. He sighed, and began to speak.

"You know, Miss Granger… from someone as smart as you, I would have expected you not to make such hasty conclusions. Especially from the enemy."

Hermione blankly stared at him, wondering what was going on. It was only the second day of school, and yet Hermione felt caught up in a secret she didn't want to be a part of.

Oliver laughed at the puzzled look on her face. "Miss Granger," he said. "I would like to introduce myself- Oliver Wood, member of the Order of the Phoenix."

The words took a while to sink in. Then, as suddenly as the flip of a switch, it clicked.

"What?" Hermione said, probably a little too loudly. She jumped up, more out of surprise than anything, and then sat hastily back down again. She felt lightheaded.

"But… why didn't I know? I mean, Harry, Ron and I know most of the Order, they're always dropping by, and you… you play Quidditch!"

"Well, you say you knew _most_. When I offered my services to Dumbledore, he thought I would be more useful if I continued playing Quidditch. You meet a lot of influential people playing professionally, and can rub shoulders with the best of them."

Hermione realized her mouth was hanging slightly open, and quickly shut it.

"Does Harry know?"

"He does, but Ron doesn't."

"Why?" 

"Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Harry's being groomed to be a leader, so he has to learn how to keep secrets, even amongst friends. He knew I was coming, and he played along quite well, don't you agree?"

Hermione frowned. "But why are you here? In Hogwarts?"

Oliver sighed. "Well, my shoulder," he shrugged his shoulder and arm, both in a sling, to prove his point, "and to keep an eye out for Dumbledore. Special favor for him, you see, for letting me join the Order."

Oliver was gazing at Hermione, and she was defiantly staring back at him.

"But, Draco Malfoy said you were involved in the… what was it, 'noble Dark Arts'?"

Oliver scoffed. "Well, I am, aren't I?" He said. "I picked up a few things about the D.A. from Moody and Shacklebolt, and I've passed on some information that has landed a few Death Eaters in Azkaban." He shrugged non-commitedly. "Doesn't make me quite popular with that lot, wouldn't you agree?" 

Hermione felt stupid for actually believing Oliver had been a Dark Wizard.

"Are you serious?" Hermione asked, her head still spinning.

"Of course."

"So why are you telling me?" she asked.

Until now, Oliver had remained calm, but he began to look a little embarrassed.

"Well, you see, you weren't supposed to know about… ummm, me… for a few months. Malfoy, probably on his father's orders, wanted you to suspect me, and try to dig up some dirt on me and discredit it me to the wizarding world, but especially you and Harry. However, they weren't planning on me finding out, and preventing that from happening."

Hermione felt slightly guilty- last night she had resolved to search Oliver's office when he was going to lend her the book he had promised.

"But why am I so important?" Hermione asked, her brows knitted. "Why would Lucius Malfoy care whether or not I trusted you?"

Oliver began to look even more uncomfortable. "Well… um, you see, a certain… err, Prophecy was made about you exactly ninety-nine years ago."

Hermione was floored. "A Prophecy?" she said keenly. "About me? What is it?"

But Oliver coughed. "Can't tell you. Erm… you just happen to be very important."

Hermione's palms were still sweaty: a Prophecy! An actual Prophecy, about her… 

(A/N: In honor of L'eau Goddess) "I wonder what Draco was doing up so early," Hermione mused, still disconcerted after finding out that Oliver was part of a secret, Dark magic fighting society.

Oliver smiled wryly. "He corresponds with his father every Tuesday morning, 4:30 a.m. Has to go to the observatory to do it."

"His dad?" Hermione asked. "But… why? And how do you know?"

Oliver shrugged his broad shoulders. "I have my sources. I'm supposed to be keeping an eye on Draco and his lovely group of friends."

Hermione stared, and wished she would stop doing so. She wondered since when all of this had been going on. "Why don't you guys just expel Draco, then, if you suspect him of Dark activity?"

"Have you ever heard of the phrase 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer'?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well, look at it this way: While Draco is still here, and thinks he's is being cleverly secret and smart, we can keep tabs on what he's doing. We expel him, his father makes a stink, and then we don't know what he's up to. Simple, really."

"Eugh… and I have to work with him?" Hermione asked.

"Of course, Miss Granger."

"Call me Hermione," she said carelessly.

"Can't," Oliver said tensely, his face serious. Hermione felt slightly embarassed.

"Why not?"

"Complications," Oliver said simply. He coughed, and seeing Hermione shiver, muttered something under his breath. The grate suddenly filled with fire, and Hermione felt like she had just submerged herself in a hot bath.

Hermione was still staring at Oliver, her mind spinning. But instead of feeling wary, she now felt even more strongly attracted. He was grown, he was in the Order, he was strong, and he could keep secrets.

"So what now?" Hermione asked, after both of them looked anywhere but each other's faces.

"Well, I daresay that Shacklebolt had some far-fetched idea about us working together…"

"Is that far-fetched?" Hermione asked quickly.

"No," he replied, even quicker. "But that wasn't supposed to be for a couple of months. You see, Order members in the field usually work in pairs, and Shacklebolt thought that with your brains and my experience we'd make a good match."

"So," Hermione said dazedly. "It's only my 2nd day back at Hogwarts, and I find out that you are a member of the Order, there's a Prophecy about me, I'm somehow very important, and we're supposed to work together. Is that right?"

"Yes… I believe so."

"Wow," Hermione said softly. "So can I call you Ollie, then?"

"No," Oliver said flatly.

"Come on, if we'll be working together, maybe just once? Ollie? (a/n: love that name, btw)

"Would you like me to call you Hermy?"

"Ok…" Hermione said quickly. "No Ollie."

They fell silent once again, and Hermione couldn't help but appreciate that finally there was someone who she could compete with mentally, although she had never known Oliver was this smart.

"Your book," Oliver said, tossing a large, silver-embossed book to Hermione. "Borrowed it off of Moody…"

Hermione's fingers lovingly traced the silver stitching, and she looked at Oliver again. She felt slightly nervous, and hoped he didn't think her some adolescent, twittering girl.

"Is this all real?" Hermione asked, looking around here. "I mean, it's so bizarre, and everything you've just told me… are you actually saying that partly the reason you're here is 'cause of me?"

"Well, technically sort of, but if I hadn't have broken my shoulder and arm then this would have never happened."

Hermione silently thanked that rogue Bludger, wherever it was, and almost immediately afterward felt slightly guilty. 

"So why are you in the Order?" Hermione asked finally. Oliver's face darkened.

"I have my reasons."

Feeling like a chastised child, Hermione started to get up in go, but was interrupted again.

"We can't pretend like we, um… know each other," he said. "If I need to meet with you, you'll find that the engraving in the book I just gave you will change to read To Hermione, With Love."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "With love?"

"Wasn't my idea," Oliver grumbled. "Tonks thought it was cute, she had this hare-brained idea… It wasn't supposed to be for a few months…And you can meet me here, unless I tell you otherwise. You're starting to step up in the Order, Miss Granger. Are you prepared to do that?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well then, my time now is done. I'll see you in class." And with that, Oliver pulled over a stack of papers and began reading them. Hermione turned her back to him, and, still feeling dazed, walked out of his office.


	7. Conversations

Kingsley Shacklebolt's bald head gleamed softly in the flickering flames, and his hoop earring flashed as it caught the light of the flickering fire. Even thought Oliver was accustomed to this method of communication, he still found it quite irritating when his superior's head popped into his fireplace, requesting to talk to him. On this particular occasion, however, Oliver had neglected to light the fire in his office, and Shacklebolt was muttering about incompetent agents. Oliver suspected that this had to do with the fact that when someone tried to communicate via fireplace and it wasn't lit, it culminated in a nasty headache which refused to go away for a few days. However, Oliver had other things to worry about. Hermione had just left his office, and she knew now that he worked for the Order.

"You called?" Shacklebolt asked, rather shortly. 

"Hermione knows," Oliver said abruptly, standing up and walking over to the fire. He couldn't get her face out of his mind.

"How much?" Shacklebolt said, his eyes widening in surprise. "She wasn't supposed to know for another two months. _You weren't supposed to tell her for another two months."_

"I know, I know," Oliver said, frowning. "But Malfoy tipped her off, no doubt trying to stir up some trouble. He wanted her to suspect me, and he probably expected her to come to some false conclusion about my job."

"Does she know about the Prophecy?" Oliver's superior asked quickly.

"No," Oliver said gratefully, and Shacklebolt audibly sighed with relief. 

"She can't know, and under _no circumstances are you to tell her. We'll need a change of plan."  _

"I know, I _know_," Oliver said crossly. "I just don't think it's right…"

"Oliver, you can't start questioning whether it's right or not at this point. You just have to make sure she _doesn't find out."  
  
"But why? I mean, don't you think she has the right to know?"_

"No. It's the same with Harry, in his 5th year. Remember? You can't know your Prophecy, or else it won't come true. I don't care what you have to do, ignore her, spurn her, whatever it is you have to do. You have to keep quiet until the centennial anniversary of the Prophecy, Oliver!"

"I know, Shacklebolt. But she's different, sir. She's smart, even cunning. She'll see right through it."

"That's why she's been chosen," Shacklebolt said matter-of-factly. "She's got important work ahead of her, whether she likes it or not."

"I still think she should know about the Prophecy," Oliver grumbled. "Seeing as it involves, well… her and me."

"She can't, Wood," Shacklebolt said crossly, a hand coming out of nowhere to rub his forehead. "Damn headache…"

"And why can't you tell me about the Prophecy?"

"We already talked about this, it's about you too."

"I still feel really awkward, knowing that there's a Prophecy involving the both of us. What if I'm supposed to kill her, or something?"

Shacklebolt sighed in annoyance. "We wouldn't let that happen, Oliver. Your fates are closely entwined, whether you like it or not."

"You sure like that phrase," Oliver grumbled.

"What?" 

"Nothing." Oliver sighed. "Are you sure about all of this? I mean, am I doing the right thing by being here? Was this all meant to be?"

"Yes," Shacklebolt said. "Even if you hadn't been hit by that Bludger, you still would have been drawn to Hogwarts, only in a different way."

Oliver was slightly amazed at the order of the world. 

"Well," he sighed, "I guess."

"I didn't come here to talk about your personal problems, Wood. Now, is there anything else you need?"

"No," Oliver said, shrugging. "I just wanted to let you know that Hermione found out, about, well… you know," he finished uncomfortably.

"Well, then, until next time. Send Fawkes if you have to- the fires are being watched. This one's only one of the few that is clear."

With a soft _pop_, Shacklebolt's head disappeared from the fire, and Oliver was left alone with his thoughts. 

* * * * * * * * * *

It was later that night, and Hermione found that it was easy to be in denial. It felt like she had carried a burden on her shoulders all day, and each step only added to the weight she felt. The fact that there was a Prophecy about her, and Oliver suddenly showing up in her life claiming he worked for the Order… It was easier to pretend it was all an elaborate scheme to make her question her sanity. 

Well, there was only person she could talk to: Harry.

She found him in the common room, sitting in his favorite squashy armchair by the fire, reading a book about Quidditch. His black hair was as untidy as ever, and his face expressed a maturity beyond his age; no doubt his many brushes with death played their part in robbing Harry of a normal childhood. Ron was nowhere to be seen.

Harry snapped his book shut and smiled at her. The common room was blissfully empty, and Hermione collapsed in a chair next to him.

"I know," she said dully, all pretenses forgotten. She had to talk to someone.

"I'm sorry?" Harry said, his brow furrowing slightly.

"I know, about Oliver, and the Order, and you being groomed to be the leader, and the Prophecy, and me somehow being important…"

"You know?" Harry repeated, his eyes wide, book forgotten. "How?"

"Oliver," she replied grumpily. "As if I didn't have enough on my mind with the N.E.W.T.s this year."

"Shhhhhh!" Harry said, his gaze darting around the empty room. He continued in a lower voice. "I thought they weren't going to tell you for a few more months."

Hermione threw up her hands in the air, exasperated. "Know what? Does everyone know something about me? Because I had no idea all this was going on!"

"Calm down, 'Mione. You weren't supposed to know," Harry said simply. This did nothing to soothe her anger. 

"Oh dear," Hermione said, hand on her head. She wanted the chair to swallow her up. "I guess this means we'll be seeing even more of each other, huh?"

"Haha… yeah," Harry said, smiling. "I mean, you'll be going to all the important meetings now."

"Great. An infringement on my study time."

"You know, there are more important things then studying."

"I was being sarcastic, Harry."

"You could be anything you wanted to be, even if you decided not to do your homework. You're brilliant, Hermione."

"Say what?" came the voice of Ron, from behind them. Both Harry and Hermione jumped, and Hermione looked up at Ron with a guilty look on her face. He had just come into the common room, splattered with mud.

"Where have you been?" Hermione asked quickly, hoping he had not overheard Harry and hers conversation. She felt slightly guilty that she and Harry had to keep such a large secret from her best friend.

"Quidditch," Ron said slowly, looking from Harry's innocent gaze to Hermione's guilty face. Hermione marveled slightly that Harry could hide his emotions so well. Or maybe he wasn't feeling anything… a scary thought.

"I thought I might get an hour in before we turned in."

"Well, you're doing really well lately," Hermione said quickly. Ron looked suspicious.

"Well, thanks," he said. "Anyways, Harry. Finished that essay for McGonagall?"

Harry groaned, and once more lapsed into a teenager with nothing more to worry about than homework.

"Not yet."

"Well, I'm off to bed," Hermione said, wanting to be alone with her thoughts.

Her feet carried her up to her room, where she changed and fell asleep almost instantly, finally overwhelmed by the day's events.

a/n: Thank you to my faithful reviewers! I love you all tons! I hope you like this chapter.


	8. A New Assignment

Hermione sometimes heard that when one became mad, one should calmly channel the energy intro useful power. Like a flood, the anger should be forcefully and yet gently pushed by the mind into a softly flowing stream, which tinkled serenely and ambled peacefully, soothing agitated nerves and calming any angry impulses…

_Oh, to hell with that_… Hermione thought irritably… _I'd like to stuff some particularly nasty hippogriff dung down the throat of whoever thought of that hogwash... _

Hermione stomped angrily up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, still seething from her recent encounter with Draco Malfoy. Both the Head Girl and Head Boy had met to discuss Prefect duties, and both had come off hating each other even worse, if that were at all possible. Draco had favored a more totalitarian approach, where he would wield the power to control Prefect duties and other influential control, whereas Hermione favored a more democratic approach, where the Prefects could choose and distribute their own responsibilities.

In response, Draco had called her a lazy snob…

She had called him an arrogant weasel…

He called her a filthy Mudblood…

She had thrown a particularly heavy magical dictionary at him…

He had turned her hair a nasty shade of green (which she promptly changed)…

She kicked off her shoe, aiming at his face, and acted surprised when Draco accused her of doing it on purpose…

And he stormed off in a huff, whereas she sniffed, tossed her hair, and had stalked out, too insulted to even pick up the smattering of paper left on the Transfiguration table.

Still too angry to put together any coherent strings of thought, Hermione at least tried to stalk quietly through the girl's dormitory, not wanting to wake up Parvati and Lavender, who would no doubt wish to know all about exactly what it was Hermione wanted to forget. Irritably shoving aside the heavy book that Oliver had given to her (_That's funny, I don't remember setting it on my bed) _she grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom to wash up before going to bed. 

Emerging a few minutes later, slightly refreshed but none the happier, she sat down on her plush comforter, but almost immediately jumped up in surprise, for she had just sat on the exact same book she had moved!

Eyeing the book warily (for it was rather freakish of a book to move on it's own accord) Hermione suspiciously extended her finger and touched the leather bound cover quickly. When she was neither electrocuted, shocked, jolted, or put under any other painful circumstance, Hermione put both hands on the book, and almost jumped away in surprise, as the book she had just tried to pick up weighed as much as a large boulder! Funny, when Oliver had given it to her it had only weighed like a, well, book. 

Hermione attempted to pry the cover open, and nearly fell over when it gave way easily. She had expected it to be impossible, and the force she exerted was enough to send her sprawling on the floor. Bouncing up quickly, Hermione looked around, heard Parvati and Lavender still snoring (miraculously), sniffed, and eyed the book again. It lay open on her bed, quite innocently if you asked Hermione, after all the fright it had just caused her.

The richly embossed inner cover of the book was now inscribed with flowing black handwriting, and as Hermione looked closely she read "To Hermione, with love."

Hermione's heart started pounding, because she knew that message was from Oliver, but almost instantly after that happy thought her stomach plummeted, when she realized Oliver hadn't really written that, and it was just a joke.

Slightly ashamed by her frivolity, Hermione sighed again and headed out the dormitory door, wishing that she could just fall asleep.

* * * * *

Hermione knocked on the door of Oliver's office, acutely aware that it was eleven o'clock at night, she was knocking on her professor's door, and was dressed in her pajamas. She was just thankful she hadn't put on her ducky p.j's. 

Oliver opened the door, and his eyes widened slightly when he saw her. 

"Hermione?"

"Yeah… I, um, got the note…"

"Right," Oliver said. It was dark in the hallways, and Oliver's face was alert, intelligent, and handsome. Hermione had to close her eyes for a second. When she opened them, she noticed Oliver was still looking at her intently. A fire gleamed from inside his office, and she noticed he didn't have his shirt on.

"Um, I really wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," he said. "But some to think of it, this is probably better… no one will see us. Hold on for a second."

Oliver disappeared for a brief moment, and reappeared, with a shirt on this time. Hermione didn't feel as nervous anymore.

"Sit down, sit down," he said, imitating Professor Flitwick. Hermione giggled softly, beginning to feel at ease. They sat across each other, and he was still gazing at her with a look on his face she couldn't place. Oliver waved his hand, and a door closed to Hermione's left.

"Where I sleep," Oliver said. "All teachers sleep in their offices. Well, actually there's a connecting room. But still, the board's pretty good here." 

"So what did you need to tell me?"

"Oh, right," Oliver said, his eyes finally leaving her face. He was smiling. Hermione wondered what made him so happy.  "Well, I've just heard from Shacklebolt, and we're to use my connections, and your knowledge of, well… everything, to check out a man suspected of Dark activity."

"Who?"

"His name is Romanov."

"Russian?"

"Bulgarian."

"Well, they don't exactly breed law-abiding wizards there, do they? Although I heard the Muggles are pretty nice."

Oliver smiled again. "You just know everything, don't you? Well, this guy is the Secretary of the Bulgarian Ministry."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "That high up? Does their Prime Minister know?"

"No. The Order is conducting this separately from the Ministry, so Fudge doesn't know. And if we don't want Fudge to know, then we don't want their Prime Minister to know."

"Oh," said Hermione.

"How long will we be there?"

"Just for one night. Um, we'll be posing as a married couple."

"What?" Hermione asked, sitting up straighter in her chair.

"Yeah," Oliver said, also sitting up straighter. His eyes were sparkling, and his smile as wide as ever.

"Why are you smiling?"

"No reason."

"Okay then. So why will we be married?"

The smile slowly faded from Oliver's face, and any playfulness Hermione had been feeling slowly evaporated.

"The last time I talked to Romanov, I was engaged."

"Oh," Hermione said very softly. She gazed at him with wide eyes. "What happened?" 

Right after she said it, Hermione knew she shouldn't have asked. "It's okay, you don't have to say anything…"

"Her name was Alex. And we were going to get married. I… loved her, once. But then she was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, and I thought my life would be over. But then, I discovered some nasty little secrets indeed: Alex had been secretly working for Voldemort, and was killed by Bellatrix because she had aspirations of replacing Lestrange of second in charge. She was sent to marry me, in hopes it would avert me from a Prophecy."

"Good Lord," Hermine said softly. "I am so sorry."

But Oliver seemed to shake it off. "I've healed, to some extent. But don't think about it."

"Is the Prophecy you mentioned… uh, the same one that I'm involved in?" Hermione asked awkwardly.

"Yeah. But, like I said, don't worry about it. I still don't know what it's about."

Hermione brought her knees up to her chin, feeling suddenly very cold. The feeling of an unknown bond between her and Oliver intensified, and Hermione suddenly felt exhausted.

Maybe Oliver realized this, because he said "It's probably time for you to go. We can talk more tomorrow."

"Sure," Hermione said, standing up. Oliver stood up, and followed her to the door. He opened it for her, and before Hermione left she took a second to savor the closeness of their bodies. They were mere inches away from each other, and Hermione took a deep breath. He smelled clean, devoid of any cologne, but clean. It was nice. 

But Mrs. Norris suddenly meowed from somewhere down the corridor, and Hermione jumped, startled. 

"Bye," she said, smiling slightly at Oliver.

He smiled back.

"By the way," he said, as she was walking out. "Nice pajamas." 

A/N: Sorry for the long wait! Hope you like it.


	9. A Turn For the Interesting

Hermione lay flopped on Harry's bed, lazing in the 7th years boys dormitory. It scandalized her peers (read, Lavender and Parvati), shocked the younger Gryffindor girls, and caused great amusement among the guys in the dorm, but Hermione didn't care. Her two closest friends were boys, and she had the right to hang out with them when she felt like it. Hermione knew that caused a lot of jealousy among some girls, but she didn't care. Besides, she kind of liked the attention.

"So you and Oliver are going undercover?" Harry asked playfully, while scrutinizing his hair in the mirror. His hand automatically went up to flatten the untidy black mass, but it just sprung up again, and Harry sighed.

"I'm sure a lot of girls would love the chance to go _undercover_ with Oliver, if you know what I mean," he said, grinning impudently. Hermione made a face and threw a pillow at him.

"Yeah," Hermione said, trying to set her face so that Harry wouldn't see the excitement that suddenly came to her eyes whenever Oliver was mentioned. " But it kind of bothers me that we can't tell Ron…"

"Tell me what?" Ron said, emerging in the dormitory. Hermione nervously gulped. Why did Ron always do that?

"That your feet smell, mate, that's what," Harry said, chucking a dirty sock at Ron. Ron laughed, and so did Hermione.

The fact that Harry and Hermione had been alone, together, in the boy's dormitory didn't at all perturb Ron, even though he and Hermione had briefly dated their 6th year. Even if that had failed, Ron and Hermione's friendship had only deepened, and she was much happier with their present situation. But that still didn't mean Ron wasn't very protective of her. 

"Hermione, can I copy your Potions essay?"

"Of course not," Hermione said briskly, knowing what his reply would be.

"Thanks, 'Mione, I owe you one. Can I get that by tonight?"

Smiling, Hermione said "Yeah, sure. But I'll be leaving tonight, and probably be gone for a night or two."

"Oh really?" said Ron, now rummaging in his messy truck for a clean pair of socks. Apparently he had taken Harry's comment to heart. "And why is that?"

"Visiting my sick Auntie. Mum wanted me to care for her."

Harry discreetly raised his eyebrows, and Ron swore as he stubbed his finger on God knows what (in this case, a package of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, Canary Creams) while rummaging through his trunk. 

"Damnit! Oh, well, have fun… oh, no, I mean, tell your Auntie I said hi, and to get better because she's stealing my favorite study partner… oh, did I just say that out loud?"

"Yeah," Harry said, "You did."

Just then the door opened, and Dean and Seamus walked in. 

"Mornin', Hermione," they said, too used to her to care (although Dean still smiled, for all like a little schoolboy who is caught trying to see up his teacher's skirt. He still wasn't used to seeing a girl in the guy's dorm).

"Hey, guys," she said. "Well, I better be off. I have to finish that Potions essay before I leave."

"You mean I can't copy it?" asked a devastated Ron, clean socks in hand.

* * * * *

Hermione stood nervously in front of the mirror, involuntarily twitching to smooth her hair and stopping her hand at the last moment. It was dinnertime, so she didn't have to worry about running into anyone, and she was still in her dorm room. Oliver had informed her that they were going to be having dinner with Romanov and his family, and had hinted that she should wear something nice. Well, she had put on a pair of silk robes that were more elegant than her school robes, but she still eyed herself critically. Her hair she had smoothed with a flick of her wand, her lips shone from gloss, and she pinched her cheeks to give them a rosy tint. Hermione had never been naturally beautiful, but it was her liveliness, her intelligence, and her spark that lent her a beauty many physically attractive women did not have.

She couldn't deny that her thoughts kept returning to Oliver, and that she dressed in the hope that he would approve. It was subconscious, really, so she could pretend she was really just thinking about the mission. 

Grabbing a silk wrap and a small bag of clothes and toiletries, she slipped out of her dorm and headed towards Oliver's office, trying hard not to be seen. She had already said her good-bye's.

Within minutes, she was knocking on his door, and for a second jumped with nervousness, as she thought she had come to the wrong room. She was expecting to see Oliver in his everyday splendor… uh, everyday clothes, she meant…

The door opened, and Hermione turned around, her mouth open, but abruptly stopping at 'Hi', and left to hang open.

But standing in front of her was a very dashing gentleman, slightly tousled hair, crisp black suit (it was quite fashionable in Bulgaria, she would later find out) and an attitude that made her heart melt with a feeling she had never known before.

"How do I look?" he asked with a smile. 

Regaining her composure, and trying to pretend she always walked around with her mouth hanging open, she said "Magnificent, dahling (a/n: in honor of slytherinrules85 J )

"You look beautiful," he said genuinely, and Hermione blushed.

"Thanks," she said.

His gaze lingered on her face before abruptly looking elsewhere. "Come on in," he said, motioning inside his office. "We'll be Apparating to Bulgaria, Number 3, Kovnor Lane. Got that? Good. Just hold on to me, it'll make it easier."

Hermione had to still her trembling hands: suddenly she felt nervous, and it wasn't because Oliver was so close to her. He grabbed her hand; his felt slightly rough, but his touch was surprisingly gentle. 

"Anything I need to know?" Hermione asked, trying to delay the inevitable.

"Only that your name is Alex," he said. "Romanov really isn't a bad guy, but I guess we'll just see…Ready? Okay. Let's go."

And with the familiar swooping feeling in her stomach, Oliver muttered something, and their Apparation took only a few seconds. The smells and lighting instantly changed, and Hermione was very conscious how she was leaning into Oliver, his grip on her still tight. Her eyes were closed.

"Welcome, Mr. And the future Mrs. Wood," said a deep voice from behind them, and they slowly turned around.

"Aleksandar!" Oliver said jovially, detaching himself from Hermione and walking forward to grasp the man's hand. Hermione hovered, uncertain what to do, but Oliver quickly pulled her in.

"Aleksandar, this is Alex," he said. Aleksandar Romanov took Hermione's hand, and she got the impression of a strong nose and thick eyebrows before he bent over to kiss her hand. He seemed pleasant enough.

He quickly turned back to Oliver, and the two immersed themselves in a conversation quite past the realm of Hermione's understanding, so instead she took in her surroundings.

They were in a sort of sitting room; richly furnished with dark, lush furniture and heavy draperies. Heavy furniture occupied a lot of the space, and a gold silk drapery adorned the wall. A particularly splendid tapestry depicting a nymph and a satyr arrested Hermione's attention. They were obviously a rich family, and Hermione felt impressed in spite of herself.

"My family," Romanov said, waving carelessly behind him. A fair, frail-looking lady was sitting in a high backed chair. Romanov nodded to her. "My wife, Ekaterina." The lady nodded politely, and said, "Welcome to our home. We were so delighted to hear from Mr. Wood, and are pleased you are staying the night. Our only regret is being unable to entertain you in our home for a longer amount of time."

Romanov smiled at her, and said "My son, Nikolai." A tall, dark haired man standing by the window winked jovially, but only after he had quickly run his eyes over Hemione's figure. Hermione resisted the impulse to frown.

"Mr. Wood, your flying was superb in the scrimmage versus the Bulgarian nationals."

Oliver beamed. "Thank you."

Hermione felt a slight tugging on the bag she was still clutching, and looked down to see a smaller than usual house elf tugging at her bag. Hermione relinquished it, and wondered in amazement at the retreating back how so small a creature could carry both her and Oliver's bag. 

Hermione felt slightly disconcerted; perhaps it was the fact they had just traveled a thousand miles instantly, or the fact that Oliver was standing so close to her. It made her heart beat a little faster, and she suddenly had to sit down to catch her breath.

"Oh, forgive me!" Romanov cried. "Please, sit down. Shall I call for refreshments? Anty!"

Another little house elf zoomed out of nowhere, and Romanov briskly ordered some drinks. Hermione almost started when she heard that he had ordered her a Firewhisky; she wasn't legally old enough to drink yet. But Oliver's hand suddenly found her arm, and with the slightest pressure he seemed to tell her to stay silent. She was, after all, supposed to be around Oliver's age, and that made her old enough to drink. She blushed at her foolishness, but Oliver simply smiled at her.

"Ah, young people in love!" Romanov said, beaming at them. But Hermione's stomach plummeted when she saw Oliver's smile vanish, and his grip turn rigid. Suddenly, it seemed like the night had lost all it's excitement and fun. 

"Well, let's sit down, then, shall we?" came the deep voice from Anton. Hermione, still a little uncertain, was almost relieved when Anton took her arm.

"You don't mind if I escort Alex, do you, Mr. Wood?"

"No," said Oliver, letting go of Hermione. His smile seemed to be forced. Hermione almost sighed in exasperation. First Oliver shied away from anything involving Hermione and love, but now he was almost acting the jealous husband! She couldn't tell. At least Ron had been upfront with her, even if it had cost them a relationship.

All the rooms looked the same, and the dining room they were eating in seemed no different from the room they had just come from; the same heavy draperies, rich embroideries, and gold antiques. Hermione got the feeling she was in a very old castle, one that Dracula would choose to live in. There was an ominous air about everything; it seemed to radiate from everything, like magnetic waves she couldn't see. The worst part about it was that it was masked with an apparent front of kindness, and Hermione involuntarily shivered. 

Anton was making polite and cheerful conversation as she held on to his arm, and she missed the frowns that Oliver was sending at her back. 

Maybe had she seen them, her night would have taken a turn for the interesting.

A/N: Please read this note, I'll try not to bore you. I know I'm agonizingly drawing out the He/O relationship, but trust my when I say in the next one or two chapters something very definite will happen. Thanks for reading, and e-mail even if you just want to talk.

~Faith 


	10. A Seperate Peace

A/N: Ahem. Sorry. I made two different references to sons of Aleksandar Romanov: Anton and Nikolai. Aleksandar has two sons; I just forgot to introduce one of them. If I ever rewrite this story, I'll make sure to correct that mistake: as of now, I'm too lazy. Gracias.

~I know the title of the chapter is also the title of a book, but I thought it was relevant.

*** I hope you like this chapter. I'm a little nervous about it.***

Hermione secretly delighted in the frowns that Oliver was throwing across the table at her. Just a few minutes ago, Anton had helped Hermione into her ornately decorated chair: in his attempt, Anton's hands had traveled over her neck and shoulders, "accidentally", of course, but Oliver's mouth had turned down at the corners, as he observed the spectacle out of the corner of his eye.  In normal circumstances, Hermione probably would have slapped the offender silly, but the look in Oliver's eyes was enough to make her forget the injustice.

 She and Anton were seated together at the Romanov's impressive, heavy oak table, and she thought they were hitting it off pretty well, although he was a little dark and depressing for her. Had circumstances been different, she probably would have found this man slightly eerie, a little depressing. But he was handsome enough, and he asked her a lot of questions about England and her school, which she carelessly answered. But she thoroughly enjoyed seeing Oliver eye the both of them with raised eyebrows, especially after Anton leaned in close to hear something she said, and she responded in kind, until her lips were almost touching his ear. She knew it was vexing Oliver, and felt a slight thrill that she could influence a man's emotions. A handsome, muscular man, to boot. 

Dinner seemed to be like a game between Oliver and Hermione, a battle of the wills, if you must. Hermione could have sworn Oliver was angry with her, but she didn't have the damndest idea why. She would steal quick glances at him all night long, as if she couldn't help it, like something was drawing her gaze to him. 

More that once, she was both surprised and excited to see Oliver was looking back, with a pensive look on his face, before quickly averting his gaze. Now it seemed to be a game of make-sure-the-other-doesn't-catch-you-looking. Oliver was failing miserably, and this only made Hermione happy, and she could hardly concentrate on what Anton was saying.

It was almost a relief when the dessert course was cleared away and Aleksandar suggested jovially that they all retire to the drawing room for a smoke. Hermione had to resist smirking: that practice was so antiquated, yet here it was celebrated in all its glory. Then she heard Oliver say something that almost caused her to snort into the water she was just drinking:

"Aleksandar, my wife and I wish to refresh ourselves. Do you mind if we meet you in a few minutes?"

Hermione didn't hear the reply: all she was aware of was the soaring sensation she felt when she heard Oliver say that. He sounded so _sincere_. She nervously stood up from the table, and let Oliver lead her away down the hall, not even questioning the fact that he seemed to know where he was going. Hermione had no idea where he was leading her: his grip on her arm was tense, and he didn't say anything. But she was surprised when Oliver suddenly threw a closet door open, pushed her in, and quickly followed suit. It was dark, and she could hardly see him.

"Oliver, what are y…"

"Listen, I need you to investigate."

"But Oliver, can't we talk about someth…"

"I'm going to distract Romanov in  the drawing room, and I need you to search his office."

"Oliver," she began furiously. "What is wrong with y…"

"It's the second door to the left from here. Whatever you do, don't get caught… and if you do, then say you had heard about his musket collection, and had just wanted to see for yourself."

"Oliver, stop…"

"I'll just tell Aleksandar that you suddenly weren't feeling well, and decided to rest instead. Good luck," he said abruptly, and just as quickly left. Hermione left staring out the open door, wanting to scream, laugh, and cry all at the same time. She wanted with all her heart to hate him.

* * * * * *

Hermione silently crept into Romanov's office, every nerve of her body strained. She was incredibly nervous, and began to sweat slightly. His office looked like the rest of the house: dark, rich, and heavy. Thoughts of Oliver kept swimming through her mind, but she managed to make her way over to the large, clear-topped desk and was just about to open the first drawer when she suddenly heard something that nearly gave her a heart attack.

"Dear Hermione, what do we have here?"

She turned slowly around, and was horrified to see Anton standing in the door.

"Oh," she said nervously. "I, um… came to see, let's see, your musket father's collection. I mean," she said quickly, cursing the fact that she couldn't lie. "Your father's musket collection."

"Hermione, I would have thought a member of the Order of the Phoenix would lie better," Anton said smoothly. Hermione almost went mad with nervousness, and she jolted. How did he know about her and the Order? She began to feel slightly scared, and anxiously racked her brains for her next step. Anton was gazing at her with an almost feverish look in his eyes, and he shut the door softly behind him. Hermione had the uncanny feeling that if she screamed, nobody would hear.

Hermione knew she should have lied again, that a good agent would have bluffed, then hit him with a Memory charm when he was off guard. But all she could think about was Crookshanks, and how she hoped Ron was feeding him…

"I don't know what you are talking about," Hermione said feebly, instinctively trying to position the desk between Anton and herself. "I don't even know this… this Order…"

"Hermione," he said. "No need to hide it. You were quite foolish, you know, answering my questions at dinner without paying attention to what you were saying. Although I'll cut you some slack: Your _fianc_ sure seemed to attract your attention."

Hermione felt trapped, and all she could do was stare at Anton. How did he know all of this? She felt suddenly dumb, like everything she learned had been siphoned off and she was only left with the memory of how to stare. Speech was useless now.

"But don't worry, Hermione," Anton said, walking slowly towards her. "I won't tell anyone, as long as you continue to play the nice girl… I must say, I have never had a Mudblood before…" his eyes were lit with an almost manic energy, and his dark, handsome face was contorted with some feverish emotion. 

Anton suddenly jumped at her, and Hermione scrambled just out of his reach, something screaming in her ears. Everything she had learned was now out the window; she was mad with fear, and all she knew was that she had to stay away from this man…

In her haste, Hermione knocked over a globe of the world and sent it crashing at Anton's feet. He jumped over it, and Hermione turned and ran to the door, desperately trying to open it. But the doors were locked, and Anton just smirked. He leaped over to her, and pinned her against the wall. 

"Don't worry," he said. His body was pressed roughly against hers, and she struggled to get away. But he shoved her back, and his hand reached to her blouse. Hermione was almost mad with fear: her breath came in quick gasps, and she struggled and fought with all her strength. She closed her eyes, only mildly surprised that no tears were forming now. 

Anton suddenly leapt back, and Hermione seized the moment to jump away, but Anton only laughed and grabbed her again. She was sobbing now, her breath coming in great racking gasps…

And just as he was about to do something that would have made Hermione prefer death, the door to the study crashed open with a tremendous bang, and made a huge dent in the wall. Hermione looked up, and saw Oliver standing in the doorway, his wand pointed at Anton's heart. Hermione's heart soared.

"Let her go," Oliver said, in a voice that chilled Hermione to the bone. Anton did. 

And then, all of a sudden, three things happened at once.

Anton, a mad look in his eyes, jumped at Oliver. Hermione screamed. And Oliver yelled something, and Anton just disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Oh my God," Hermione said, shaking. "Oh my God… Oh my God…" She sagged against the wall, her strength gone, and just as she was about to fall to the floor Oliver leaped over an upturned chair and caught her. She scrambled and clutched his arms to her, feeling the familiar warmth of safety.

"Are you okay?" he asked, worry in his eyes. She nodded, but couldn't control her shaking. She felt exhausted, drained, and emotionally bankrupt.

"What happened?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from quavering.

"Oh, he'll end up somewhere in South America," Oliver said casually, still holding her. She had no strength to stand on her own.

"But…"

"He was a Death Eater, and his father didn't know it," Oliver said darkly. "He was a sick, disgusting man, and he deserved to be killed. He was crazy, too. Thought he could cozy up to Voldemort. Dumb shit…But I can be lenient…" He was furious.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Hermione, indignant… or at least as indignant as she could be.

"Just heard it, about two minutes ago, from Tonks," he said. "But at least the rest of the family is clean. I'll just tell Aleksandar that Anton fell in love with his third cousin and just ran off with her because he couldn't stand living in his father's shadow."

"Oh," said Hermione weakly. She looked up into his face. He was so warm against her… so warm… And he had _saved_ her…

And then Oliver suddenly helped Hermione to a chair, as if her skin was too hot to touch. She didn't even have energy to cry, so she just sat and stared helplessly at Oliver, but he refused to look at her.

"Oliver, I…"

"Come on," he said brusquely, "We can head back to the room now, when you feel good enough to walk."  

Hermione stared at his broad back, but still no tears rolled down her cheeks.

* * * * * * * 

Hermione was still overwhelmed by what just happened. She found herself involuntarily shaking as she walked besides Oliver, and all of a sudden felt tears begin to swell and crowd behind her eyes. She shivered, and for the first time in her life, felt scared for reasons she couldn't explain. She looked desperately at Oliver, crying with her heart that he would finally just hear her, stop playing games with her, and take her in her arms like she knew should happen. Her whole body ached for him, and it quite terrified her that she could ever want something so much.

But Oliver walked right beside her, not looking at her. He had other things on his mind, and Hermione wasn't one of them, she miserably thought. She had let her emotions get in the way, had tried to make Oliver jealous, and… well, something bad happened as a result.

If only she knew what Oliver was really thinking…

Hermione felt miserable, and almost bumped into Oliver's back when the Romanov's house elf stopped in front of the door to their room. Hermione mumbled a thanks as the door was opened, and was greeted with a room quote unlike the rest of their house. A large, four-poster bed occupied in the middle of the room. The walls were upholstered with a light green color, and delicate furniture was scattered around the room: quite different from the rest of the house.

With another jolt of her heart, she realized that there was only one bed in the room. _Of course,_ thought Hermione dully. _We're married, aren't we? _

After the elf deposited her and Oliver's things, bowed, and shut the door quietly behind them, silence filled the room, until it was broken by Oliver.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he said brusquely, grabbing a spare comforter off of a chair. He turned his back to her, and Hermione's stomach tightened when she noted how broad his shoulders were, the way his head bent over to unfold the blanket he held in his hands. The light softly splayed across his shirt (he had discarded his jacket) and the shadows formed exaggerated his muscles. Hermione pressed her lips together and bit them, trying to distract herself from the tears that tried to well up again. The soft light of the room cast dancing shadows across his face, and his eyes met hers. Gone was the playfulness she had seen begun to emerge the past few weeks, to be replaced by something Hermione couldn't put a finger on.

He disappeared in the bathroom, and emerged a few minutes later in a cotton Puddlemore shirt and shorts. She sighed, and followed suit, emerging in shorts and a shirt. In her haste, she had packed a form-fitting cotton tank, and she didn't have a bra to wear with it either. 

"Oliver, I… I'll sleep on the floor," Hermione said timidly, checking her voice. She felt like her entire soul was weighed down with unknown amounts of sorrow. She knew that the air around them sparked with electricity, but she sadly realized they would never happen, just like she never was able to have the only man she ever wanted. 

His face didn't change, and he regarded her for a few moments. 

"Don't be stupid," he said abruptly. She turned her eyes to the floor to avoid his gaze. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"Well, I guess we'll be wasting a pair of perfectly clean sheets," Hermione said rather acidly, exasperated. Oliver noted the tone of her voice and frowned.

"And don't even begin to frown at me," Hermione continued, her sadness suddenly fueling her anger. She was tired of falling in love all her life, and her feelings never being reciprocated. She was tired that here she was alone with Oliver, pretending to be married, and she couldn't even do so much as kiss him.

"And why not?" said Oliver, clearing getting angry. Hermione had heard about his volatile temper, and briefly wondered if she had just poked a sleeping lion. 

"Oliver, I am tired of all this shit. Not what we're doing, but you."

His eyes widened. "Me? What did I ever do to you?"

She laughed bitterly. "Oh, I don't know, Oliver. But you know, all my life I've faced disappointment and sorrow when it came to love."

"In case you've forgotten, so have I," he said, his voice dangerously low, his shoulders taught. 

"But that's where you and I are different. You at least have felt love, knew what it was like to be in love, have held someone in your arms and would give your life to protect her." Hermione didn't want to acknowledge it, but she was slightly jealous of Alex, Oliver's fiancé and love of his past. But she was almost past the point of caring.

"Oliver, I knew you were dedicated to Quidditch, but at Hogwarts, whenever you weren't playing Quidditch, you were either flirting or else dodging commitments with girls. I thought you had changed! I thought you became capable of being loyal, and of _flirting to mean something_. Obviously I was wrong."

Hermione felt suddenly uplifted, that she had gotten this off her chest.

"What did I ever do to you?" Oliver asked again, slowly. She wished he would stop staring at her. She had the feeling he could see right through her.

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "How about making me fall in love with you. I don't even know why," she said dully, mad that a tear had escaped from her eye and was trailing down her cheek. She wanted to scream. But then she looked up.

Oliver was still staring at her, and he looking like a man who was privately waging an internal war. He looked anguished, guilt-ridden, and miserable. It was enough. Hermione grabbed her things and headed towards the door, unable to handle all the emotion and electricity that lay in the air.

"I'm out," she said, and had partially thrown open the door when Oliver's arm suddenly came from nowhere and pushed it closed again. Hermione refused to turn around, and struggled with the doorknob, angrily dashing tears from her eyes. But it was useless: Oliver was too strong, and she was weakened by despair.

"Let me go, you bastard!" she said furiously, now openly crying. But in a moment she would remember and carry with her the rest of her life, Oliver gathered her suddenly in his arms and pulled her to his chest, and held her quaking body, her forearms pushed against his chest. She feebly tried to protest, tried to push off, but he was so forceful, and so… gentle.

"Stop it!" she whispered. "I don't want to love you… Please, just let me leave."

"Hermione, you have to listen to me," Oliver said, still holding her, pressing her to him. His voice was shaking, but Hermione still tried feebly to push herself away from him.

"Hermione, I don't know what to say… You're right, I have known love," he began haltingly. She gave up her resistance, and let herself lean into him, savoring the pressure of his forearms on her back.  He sensed this, and let go to look at her.

"And it ruined me. When I learned about… about Alex…"

He stopped.

"Well, it almost killed me," he finally said. Hermione was overcome by a sudden wave of pity for this strong man who had been hurt so deeply. "I spent months… months drinking, throwing my life away…

And, I know you'll later laugh at this… I think the only thing that kept me going was a traveling Seer. She read my fortune, and said that in my future, I would love again, more than I ever had before. And so I tried to clean my act up," his low voice continued, "so that one day I could be happy again, and love again."

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, almost frightened at this show of emotions. She gently pressed her lips together, but with a bubbling feeling of hope stirring in her stomach. She looked into his eyes, and for once he didn't look away. His eyes were alive, intelligent, sorrowful, and beautiful. New emotions swirled around Hermione; powerful longings, her entire body seemed to ache for him. She wanted to feel his arms around her again, press her stomach against his, feel his lips on hers. 

They were mere inches away, and Hermione felt like each word that came out of his mouth formed a web, a web that was now fastened securely around them both and bound them together. She felt overwhelmed, and almost started crying again from happiness.

"I was scared, Hermione," Oliver said. "You just… overwhelmed me, with your talent, and your beauty… And I'm your _teacher_, for God's sake… But I had gone so long without knowing what love felt like, and I was… scared, absolutely terrified when it did."

"Wow…" Hermione said softly, her mouth slightly open. She snapped it shut, and looked up into his eyes. "I want to help you forget," she said seriously. He broke into a sad smile, and she smiled back.

"When I saw you in… on that room, and that… that bastard… was going to…" he was so angry he almost couldn't speak… "I knew that all I wanted was to protect you, and that you would never have to go through something like that again."

Hermione felt as if she and Oliver were the sole two beings on the earth. Her emotions were tremendous, her stomach was plummeting, her heart was racing, and she felt magnetically drawn to Oliver. He was looking at her so intently, and expectantly, and Hermione was almost drowned in a wave of love.

Then, tentatively, Oliver gently took her right hand, then her left. He pulled her to him, and without speaking he pressed her body to his. They were quivering slightly, whether from nervousness she didn't know, or the fact that they had just found love. 

"Hermione," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I can't believe… I've waited…"

Then, like they both knew would happen from the day they met, Oliver buried his face in her neck, and his hands pulled her closer to him. They were standing, and she was thrilled to feel his muscular body pressed against hers, and that here was someone who desired her as much as she desired him. She had the sudden desire to see more of him; shirtless, disheveled, naked. His muscles rippled as he kissed her neck, and his arms wrapped around her waist even tighter. She clung to his neck, knowing instinctively he would protect her from everything bad in the world.  Hermione shivered, and then his lips found hers in a gentle, tentative kiss, which became more passionate. Hermione was overwhelmed; she couldn't believe this was happening, she couldn't believe it wasn't a dream. She began to drown in the bliss that was Oliver. 

They clung together, delighted in the closeness of their bodies, felt the beating of the other's heart. They had been through something that was binding, they had both been hurt in the past, and they both knew that peace lay in the other's arms. 

In a body quite separate from her own, Hermione quickly detached herself and turned the lights off, returning and slipping back into Oliver's embrace. She tugged his shirt off, and ran her hands over his pecs, his chest, his shoulders… The lone candle showed an Oliver whose face was completely filled with love.

And then he said the words she had longed to hear her whole life: "I love you, Hermione."

Suddenly, she was at peace.

* * * * * * * *

Phew. I hope you like it. I just want to take a quick moment to say thank you and a lot of hugs to all of my reviewers, especially the ones who keep on encouraging me throughout the whole story and are really wonderful:

Beth-TauriChick, Tracy3, slytherinrules85, Red and Gold, JagFanatic, queenofDiamonds1, L'eau Goddess, BotherBother69, Athene Saile, mystripedskirt, and everyone else, thank you!. Please e-mail me, I love to talk! 


	11. Return to Hogwarts

Hermione woke the next morning in a groggy state of happiness. Images flitted across her mind of last night: Oliver, gently bracing her against his strong arms, Oliver, gently kissing here, Oliver, face full of emotion, herself switching off the lights, and Oliver, his lips so soft against hers…

She was warm, and realized that her back was rested against his front, his left arm slung over her waist. They were still in the floor, but it wasn't uncomfortable: in fact, Hermione would argue it was one of the most comfortable nights of her life. He was still asleep, his chest rising and falling against her back, and she smiled. She felt a great happiness swell inside of her, like a giant balloon, pressing against her ribs, her heart, her throat, threatening to explode. She was so in love!

But Hermione suddenly sat up, as if she had been scalded. She looked around… yes, that was Oliver's shirt, she remembered taking that off herself… there was her shirt, but she still had a camisole on… then she looked down, and almost laughed in relief when she realized she still had her clothes on. So they hadn't had sex last night, Hermione thought, with a mixture of disappointment and relief. Hmm. Well, at least it proved you could fall in love and have a passionate time without doing it.

Oliver was now awake, and was looking at her, his head in one hand, with a wry smile on his face.

"What's the matter?" he said, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her down next to him.

"Nothing," Hermione said, beginning to blush. "I'm just… I dunno. Happy? Relieved?"

"What, that we didn't have sex?" he asked, smiling good naturedly. Hermione flushed a deep red.

"Well, yeah," she said, refusing to meet his eye. But she was smiling, too.

"You're a virgin, aren't you?" he asked seriously. She looked at him.

"Yes, actually. Are you?"

"No," he said pensively. He suddenly seemed sullen. Hermione couldn't help but feel a small stab of jealousy. "But they didn't mean anything. I guess I was looking for what I feel like when I'm with you."

The happiness returned, spreading through Hermione and making her almost lightheaded. "I've done enough," she said pensively, running her hand absentmindedly along his chest, nothing its smoothness. "But I just don't think I'm ready, just emotionally, for it. That, and I never really met many guys outside of Harry and Ron."

"Well, I guess I'll just be gentle then," he said jokingly, grabbing her hand and slapping her palm. She laughed.

"I love you, Hermione," Oliver said seriously, her head nestled in the curve of his throat.

"I never knew what love was until I met you," she replied.

"I think I thought, many times, that I had found love," Oliver continued, musing. "But I was searching for all the wrong reasons."

Just then, a knock came from the door.

"I'll get it," Oliver said, rolling over and brushing his lips across Hermione's before pushing himself up and answering the door. He didn't bother grabbing a robe, and Hermione savored the view of his well-muscled back.

"Breakfast, sir," came the squeaky voice of the Romanov's house elf. "Master thought that you would most likely prefer breakfast in your room, sir." Hermione blushed again at hearing this, and Oliver watched in amusement as the elf wheeled in a small, ornate cart with absolutely nothing on it. The door snapped shut behind the elf, and Oliver bounded over to Hermione, picked her up, and slung her over his shoulders.

"Hey!" she said, laughing. "Stop it!" He dumped her on the bed and pulled the cart up to her. He smiled widely at her.

"You sure are playful," Hermione said, smiling. Oliver's smile was infectious. He sat down across from her.

"I used to be like this all the time," he said jovially. "Now, look straight at the cart, and tell it what you want for breakfast."

"Oh… ummm… well…" The cart suddenly rattled violently, and Oliver began laughing.

"It can't process that," he said. "Try again." Hermione giggled, and said "Chocolate chip pancakes, and milk." The food immediately appeared on top of the cart, hot and steaming, and Hermione couldn't help but feel impressed in spite of herself.

"I wonder if I could get Mum and Dad one of these…" she mused, looking underneath the cart. Oliver laughed again, his great, booming laugh. Hermione liked his laugh, and was pretty sure he hadn't laughed like that in a while.

And then, they both ate their first meal together, finally acknowledging and surrendering to their feelings, walking the path of destiny they were both to share.

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They Apparated back to Hogwarts after breakfast, first saying good bye to the family. However, Hermione wasn't too sad about leaving. She got the shivers every time she walked past Romanov's office.

Oliver left her in his office with a quick hug, saying he needed to talk to Dumbledore. Hermione just seemed to realize that he no longer walked around with a sling on his arm, but that he still held it gingerly at his side whenever he walked.

Hermione stood in his masculine, slightly messy office and couldn't help but smile brightly. She took off the sweater she was wearing and tossed it over a clawed chair and walked over to his large wall of books. Hermione ran her fingers along many of the spines, walking slowly and delighting in the books she found. She spent about twenty minutes musing over the books, wondering how Oliver could have amassed such a wonderful collection.

But then Hermione realized she wanted to see Harry and Ron. Even though she had only been apart from them for less than two days, she missed Harry's other-worldly intelligence and Ron's laughable ignorance. So, grabbing her sack of overnight things, she opened the heavy door of Oliver's office and slipped outside.

"Well," a cold voice suddenly cut across the corridor, and Hermione suddenly froze. Shit. She turned around slowly, and came face-to-face with a smirking Malfoy.

"What are we doing here, Mudblood? Coming out of a certain Professor's office? With a nightbag, no less?" His eyes were cruel and laughing, and Hermione blushed a deep crimson, furiously meeting his eyes. She was painfully aware that Draco could see through the open door to her sweater hung over the back of Oliver's chair, and slammed the door shut.

"Actually, Malfoy, we were talking about Quidditch," she replied, her voice surprisingly even and firm. "And I happened to be coming back from a trip to visit my sick Auntie."

Malfoy's lip curled, and Hermione felt herself almost boiling with fury. "Listen, Malfoy, unless you want your mother to receive a very detailed letter about how I walked in on you shagging a Hufflepuff, I would wipe that smirk off your face." Draco suddenly paled, and now it was his turn to flush crimson.

"Granger, you don't know what you're messing with," Draco said vehemently, taking a step towards her.

"Of course I do," she said brightly. "I've cleaned up hippogriff dung in Hagrid's class before."

"Is there something wrong here?" came another curt voice from behind both of them. Without braking her glance with Draco, Hermione replied "Oh no, Professor McGonagall. Everything is just fine."

And it was, because whatever problems came her way, Hermione could now face them with Oliver.

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"Hermione! You're back!"

Hermione smiled as she entered the portrait hole of the Gryffindor common room, and was surprised when Ron bounded out of his seat to give her a hug. Harry followed suit, and Hermione beamed.

"How's your Auntie?" Ron asked, resuming his position on the couch in front of the fire.

"Better now, thanks," Hermione replied, dropping her stuff but a chair and collapsing in it. "Although I'm pretty damn tired."

"Well, you didn't miss much here," Ron said happily. "And now that you're back, I can copy that essay for Flitwick!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, then winked at Harry.

"Where is everyone?" Hermione asked, eyeing the almost empty common room. It was a Saturday, and usually there were more people milling around, either frantically trying to complete their homework or obstinately ignoring it. Both Harry and Ron fell in the latter category.

"Hogsmeade," Ron said, squinting at a Quidditch magazine he was reading. "But we went yesterday, so we're good."

"The cloak?"

"Yep," Harry said.

"Well, I guess we can to get back to normal," Ron said.

He didn't understand why Harry and Hermione both started laughing very loudly.

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A/N: Sorry for the wait! Hope you liked it. Next chapter (and plot turn) coming soon.

Faith


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